A decade ago, I was furiously documenting every waking moment in a diary. There were a total of 12 diaries that I managed to fill up with with seemingly important details of my life that I thought would matter to me forever. Funny.
I was living on paper and not in real time. Writing had become synonymous with feelings at this point and not writing wasn’t about the act or medium in itself. Once I turned 18, I quit.
A couple of years later, I bought a journal, a grown-up one this time, and I vowed to write to express, not to document.
I wrote mostly about important points in my life or about little things that brought me joy. I steered clear from my journal on bad days and when I was going through low points, just so I didn’t record something that wouldn’t mean anything to me in a few minutes, hours or days.
The simple act of choosing what to remember from the infinite events in my life allowed me to be selective as I was living in the moments. I now select moments that I want to be a part of, while still being open to surprises along the way. I am confident on and off paper, which is something I thought I’d never say.
A decade ago, I had decided to be a certain type of person so as to not confuse myself through evolution. I assumed that choosing a set of options in a mental personality quiz would result in a definitive personality. I selected my options and was so rigid about it that I locked myself in, all of it an honest mistake. Imagine being stuck in a room with someone you don’t like; I was stuck with myself.
As I write this, I am 26 and still changing. I no longer feel stuck because I ripped up that beloved questionnaire. I let myself live and breathe.
Let’s see where I am then: I loved hot chocolate, now I prefer coffee. I wrote diaries, now I maintain a mindful journal that I forget to write in. I loved black and blue outfits, and I still can’t get enough of them. Some things fade and other intensify, I guess. If nothing else, I am free.
Reader. Learner. Dreamer.
I am all about the little things in life!